


Grave Sight

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grave Robbers, M/M, Peril, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If getting mixed up with graverobbers while visiting his uncle's grave wasn't enough, Alex also has to face the fact of who put him there in the first place. </p><p>Written for a prompt of 'ghouls'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grave Sight

There came certain points, Alex reflected, when you really had to look at your life choices. And sitting alone in a deserted graveyard in the middle of the night was probably one of them.

Still, they didn't come to London much, and ever since they'd been here Alex had had the nagging sense he should at least pay a visit to his uncle's grave. So he'd slipped out for a while, without telling Yassen where he was going - because that was frankly one awkward conversation he didn't need to have.

Now he was here though, he felt a bit daft. It wasn't like there was anything he could do, or say. He'd cleared a spray of long dead flowers away from the surface, and now he was just sitting here with his knees pulled up to his chest, getting cold and damp. 

Alex had just decided that it would have been more sensible staying with the one person who was actually still alive in his life, and maybe also convincing him that what _he_ really wanted to do this evening was screw Alex into the middle of tomorrow morning, when his thoughts were interrupted by the clang of metal on stone not far away, and he froze.

He'd been alone when he arrived here, Alex was sure of that. He was also sure that himself notwithstanding, anyone turning up without lights at this time of night was almost certainly up to no good. He squirmed between the gravestones trying to get a better look at what was going on.

Several rows over, in an older part of the cemetery, Alex crouched flattened against the side of a crumbling tomb and craned to see what was going on. In the moonlight, two men with spades appeared to be digging vigorously down into a grave. Alex stared incredulously at the activity. What the hell kind of ghouls went about graverobbing in this day and age?

Transfixed, he watched as they apparently hit the lid of a coffin and started brushing the dirt away, before jumping down into the hole they'd made brandishing a crow bar. Sickened, Alex nevertheless tried to get closer. It felt vaguely like they hadn't dug down far enough - wasn't there something about six feet under? - but that was unmistakeably a coffin lid on the grass, a chillingly unmistakeable shape in the bright moonlight.

He gingerly climbed up onto the box tomb in an attempt to get a better view - and as his weight shifted his foot went right through the brittle lid. He couldn’t stop a stifled yelp of alarm escaping, as visions of bony fingers closing around his ankle rose up to fill his mind. He wrenched his leg free, grazing the skin and twisting his foot. Dropping to the grass, already conscious of cries of alarm from the open grave, he tried to turn and run but his ankle gave way and he staggered against the nearest gravestone in sudden shooting pain.

Too late to hide, a rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder and he was dragged out into the open, struggling wildly.

"Who the bloody hell's this?" The second man stared at Alex in disbelief.

"Let me go! I didn't do anything!" Alex yelled, trying to tear himself away from the vicelike grip on the back of his neck. Now he was closer, he saw to his relief that what the men had been disinterring was not a corpse after all, but a set of old metal ammunition boxes. He wondered what was in them, and how long they'd been hidden here.

The men caught the line of his gaze and swore, and Alex realised he'd given himself away. 

"What we gonna do with the little bastard?" rasped the man clutching Alex.

The other man looked down into the open grave and produced a nasty grin. "Well, we seem to have made room for him down there already."

Grinning horribly, the man holding Alex shoved him roughly backwards. Desperately trying to keep his balance, Alex felt the earth crumbling away under his shoes and before he could do anything to save himself was falling backwards.

He slammed into the bottom of the coffin with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs and left him stunned. Hardly able to move, he tried to suck air into a chest that refused to obey him, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Dazed, it was only when the man who'd pushed him picked up the coffin lid that he suddenly realised what they intended. 

"No!" It came out as a croak, barely enough oxygen in his lungs to make a sound. He tried to sit up, but they were both standing in the hole now, and while he threw up his hands defensively it was too little too late. The coffin lid slammed down under the combined weight of the men above, scraping Alex's hands as he scrabbled at the wood.

Breath returned painfully to his reluctant lungs and he choked on stale, mildewy air. Thinking they only meant to trap him long enough to make a getaway, Alex's blood ran cold as a series of thumps suggested they were nailing the lid back in place.

" _No!_ " This time it came out as more than half scream, visions of being buried alive crowding in. Already it seemed hard to breathe, and he couldn't tell if it was due to his winding and imagination or something worse. 

Panicking out of all sense and control he slammed against the lid over and over to no avail, tearing his fingernails and bruising his knees. There just wasn’t the room to get any force behind his limbs and he fell back, numb from horror. 

There came a pattering noise and he wondered for a crazy moment if it was raining. A horrific vision of rat claws skittered across his mind until it was pushed out by the altogether more chilling realisation of the truth. It was earth, being shovelled onto the lid. They really did mean to bury him alive.

Alex had no memory afterwards of the next couple of minutes, only knew that he was screaming and fighting against wood that refused to give. He was on the brink of losing it completely when from outside came the shocking retort of two gunshots in quick succession.

He froze, listening desperately, but all was silent. The noise of falling dirt had ceased but he’d been making so much noise himself he couldn’t tell when it had stopped. Had they argued, shot each other? It seemed implausible.

A heavy thud right on top of him made him jump violently, and he started hitting and kicking at the lid with renewed vigour.

He didn’t recognise the splintering noise for what it was at first, it took the sudden rush of cold night air in his nostrils to realise someone had levered the half-nailed lid back off and hauled it away. His clawing hands suddenly met empty air and then smacked against a pair of hands reaching down to him.

Blinded by sheer terror he hit out at them, convinced his assailants had decided to finish him off more directly, but he was seized by the wrists and hauled bodily out of the coffin and onto the damp grass.

Finally recognition filtered through the haze of panic and he realised who it was that had hold of him, who was reassuring him over and over, that he was safe, that it was okay now.

Alex slumped into Yassen's arms with a sob, to be held in a fiercely protective embrace. Yassen looked him over critically, satisfying himself that Alex was largely unharmed and permitting himself one gentle stroke of Alex's tangled hair.

Some time later when Alex's heartrate and breathing had returned to less coronary-inducing levels he pulled back shakily. Looking about him, Alex noticed for the first time the two still bodies a short distance away on the turf.

"Are they - ?"

"Very," said Yassen, impassively. 

Alex shivered. "They were going to bury me alive."

"I noticed." Yassen got to his feet and pulled Alex up after him. 

"What are you doing here?" Alex asked, relief at his unexpected rescue fading enough for surprise to set in.

"You wouldn't tell me where you were going. So I followed you," Yassen told him matter of factly.

"Oh." Alex stepped up and kissed him briefly on the cheek. "Thank you." Yassen raised an eyebrow and Alex gave a short laugh. "For not trusting me, I suppose."

Yassen shook his head, slowly. "I do trust you. I just also know you have an uncanny ability to find trouble."

Alex laughed again, louder, and even he could hear the note of hysteria in it. 

Yassen took him firmly by the shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I just - " Alex had a flash of the moments in the grave and Yassen felt him shudder under his hands. "Guess that's going to be worth a few nightmares, huh?" Alex added, trying to make light of it, not wanting Yassen to see how deeply he'd really been affected by his ordeal.

"How do you get yourself into these situations?" Yassen muttered with faint disgust. 

Alex shrugged, weakly. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he had to fight to prevent his knees giving way.

Yassen had turned away and was examining the abandoned munitions boxes. "I wonder what's in these? Must be something worth having."

"Can't we just leave them?" Alex pleaded faintly. "They've caused enough trouble already."

Yassen gave him an impenetrable look. "Could be worth a lot of money. And I did just kill two people for possession of them."

"And there was me thinking you did it to save me," Alex muttered, then sighed. "And you can stop that too."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to make me cross with you."

Yassen gave him a tired smile. "Angry is better than afraid."

"You know most people would just give me a hug and buy me a drink."

"Most people wouldn’t commit double murder and pull you out of a grave," Yassen pointed out dryly. He looked round. "You might have a point about not outstaying our welcome here though."

They abandoned the open plot behind them and walked unhurriedly towards the gates.

As they passed the row containing Ian Rider’s grave Alex couldn’t help his gaze straying to the spot. He hoped Yassen hadn't noticed, but then a hand came to rest briefly on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Yassen said quietly.

Alex stopped and looked up at him. "Are you?" It came out harder than he'd intended. Yassen held his eyes for a long moment, considering.

"For causing you pain. Yes."

"But not for killing him?" Alex couldn't stop himself adding, despite the fact the last thing he wanted right now was a fight. This - they'd avoided this, for so long. Too long, perhaps.

"If things had been otherwise - I would not have you now. How can I regret that?"

Alex shook his head, turned away. "The whole thing makes my brain ache."

They resumed walking, in a silence that lasted all the way back to the hotel, each trapped with his own thoughts.

Alex was standing by the window with his arms wrapped miserably round himself, feeling cold, as if the grave dirt was striking up through his bones.

"It's late. We should sleep." Yassen emerged from the bathroom stripped to the waist and barefoot.

Alex, achingly weary, shook his head. "Not tired," he lied, easily matching the Russian for terse brevity. He was surprised when warm hands came to rest on his, as Yassen walked up behind him and put his arms around him loosely.

"Afraid of bad dreams?" he asked, quietly perceptive.

Alex resisted the urge to bury his face against Yassen's chest. One humiliating loss of control was enough for one evening.

"Alex." 

The suppressed emotion in the whispered name was enough to make Alex look up in surprise. "I'm sorry." Yassen's face was tight, as he faced an uncomfortable truth he'd rather have ignored. "If it wasn’t for my actions - you'd never have had reason to be in that cemetery tonight."

"Stop it. _Stop_ it!" Yassen looked taken aback at Alex's outburst as he continued. "Stop trying to make me blame you. Because I don't, okay? For - for any of it." Alex's voice tailed off into a broken whisper. "Because if - if you hadn't - done what you did - I wouldn’t have you now either." He stared miserably into Yassen's startled eyes. "And you have no idea how guilty I feel for that. Because he's _dead_ , but - I need you. I need you like you're a part of me."

Wordlessly, Yassen pulled Alex into his arms and this time Alex didn’t resist.

"You are blameless Alex. You think you should feel guilt because I do not." 

At Alex's troubled look, Yassen cupped his face gently. "And I would do it all again, if I had to. If it meant only that you would be mine."

"I've never been anyone else's," Alex said softly.

Yassen's mouth was warm and sure on his, and as Alex let him lead him to the bed, he knew one thing with certainty. 

There would be no nightmares tonight.


End file.
